


Though I Found You In The Sand

by birchtreeharold



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Louis, Bottom Harry, Drinking, Harry Has a Daddy Kink, M/M, Photographer Harry, Smoking, The band are best friends minus Harry, Zayn is an artist too, Zouis are besties, he's a loner sorry, its very low key and subtle though yEET, shit I just remembered, shit should probably tag the alcohol use, the smut is shit i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8241118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birchtreeharold/pseuds/birchtreeharold
Summary: It's not like Harry and Louis meant to find each other like they did. They didn't know about their blatant school boy crushes on each other, though it seemed everyone else did.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Pls read this and call it not shit 
> 
> Thanks
> 
> Title from Spanish Sahara by a band called Foals.
> 
> Abuse me on twitter if this is bad @birchtreeharold  
> Which reminds me, thanks to the gc for encouraging me to do this :)
> 
> Seriously recommend listening to frank ocean - ivy with this because that's exactly the vibe I was tryna go for

It's not like Harry and Louis meant to find each other the way they did. They didn't know about their blatant schoolboy crushes on each other, though it seemed everyone else did.

Louis had never thought the boy with the curls would even look twice at him. He strode around the college, and Louis would watch him with his sinful legs, a camera in his hands at all times and a shy smile on his face every time he gazed down at the screen, hopefully, pleased with his work.  
Zayn would nudge Louis gently every time he found himself staring maybe a little too long at Harry, whispering " _Babe_ , staring at him isn't gonna do all that much, you know," a knowing grin on his face.

"Ah, but Zayn," Louis starts, "as an artist, you should know better than most that it's important to take time to observe the beauty of the world in its natural form. That's what I'm doing. Observing art in its prime." He says with a shrug.

"Fucking hate it when you go poetic on me." He rolls his eyes, taking a drag of his cigarette. 

"You love it," Louis smirks.

"And you love him." Zayn laughs, puffing his smoke into Louis' face. Louis coughs and punches his best friend lightly, a light rose colour rising from his neck to his cheeks.

"Zayn, I don't even know him. Stop being a cock."

"You don't know him _yet_ ," Zayn corrects him, "and when you two are married with a million children, don't say I didn't call it." Zayn hops off the red brick wall that acts as a border between their local college and the outside world.

"Take your love bullshit and shove it up your arse right next to Liam's cock, Zayn." He flips him off to add to the blow, but Zayn only shrugs.

"Babe, you know I would, but there isn't much room in there. I mean, you've seen Liam, right?" He's smirking up at Louis. 

"I'm this close to throwing up." He scrunches his face in disgust, a small distance between his thumb and index. He looks to Harry once again for some relief.

Harry, of course, is chatting to a small girl of around five, and she grins up at the lanky boy, her blonde plaits whipping around as they cross the road outside the college with an older woman, most likely her mother. Louis wonders if it might just be himself and the little girl that Harry has under a spell, but it makes sense. Harry seems to... glow. Louis could write a book, or paint for days about the natural light he feels and sees around Harry, that could draw the masses to him in search of comfort, too scared to touch, in fear of corrupting or poisoning what may well be a sacred being.

Much like Louis is drawn to a new set of paintbrushes, he thinks. He finds himself too scared to use them for days after he buys them, in fear of damaging or destroying something so delicate. But oh, how he craves to reach out and touch, to create the world and more with them.

Harry points to his own long hair, a beautiful smile on his face, a blush on his cheeks, dimples in full force, and Louis imagines plaiting the boy's curls for a second, feeling something bubble in his chest; warm and comfortable. He shakes the image when he looks back to Zayn, who's shaking his head in disbelief.

"You're ridiculous. And grinning. Like a lovesick idiot." He tucks his hands into the seemingly bottomless pockets of his leather jacket. Louis once saw him pull an entire footlong sub out of one of them and still loses sleep over it. 

"Shut up. Or I'll throw up on you. I'm still trying to wipe your mental image from my memory forever." He shudders overdramatically.

"Save the throwing up for Friday."

"Friday?"

"Party, yeah? Liam's place."

"Oh, yeah, the party. Do his parents know?" His parents never know.  
Zayn's face turns sly as he says, "Doesn't matter mate; Harry's gonna be there."

"He is?" His eyes widen. He sighs, rubbing his forehead. A bit of ash falls from his cigarette onto his black jeans. He wipes it away, smudging it into a large white line. He sighs again. He knows he's done for, and so he says, "yeah, I'll be there. Always am." He lifts his head up meets Zayn's grin, allowing himself the pleasure of smiling too. Something brews inside, and it feels a little bit like excitement. He hops off the wall, stubbing out his cigarette.

"Gonna be sick, promise." Zayn taps his back firmly, sticking one earbud in Louis' ear, the other already in his own. Some dark indie band acts as the soundtrack to their walk back to class.

Harry; a lanky, insecure mess, would've never thought the boy with the eyes and the feathery fringe would look at him the way Louis looks at him now.  
He would watch him in awe as he made his way across the yard, greeting his group of painfully attractive friends (all clad in skinnies, leather and covered with tattoos, of course), with insults and jokes, at which Harry would laugh from a distance and shamefully remind himself that he didn't actually know them, stifling his undeserved giggles.  
At lunchtime, out on the college field, he would subtly (or maybe not so subtly) observe the way Louis would keep a paintbrush tucked behind his ear or in his denim jacket pocket as he would roll a cigarette, only dreaming of the gentle touch of his delicate fingers.  
The soft Autumn light would catch his sharp features beautifully, and the smoke would slip so wistfully from his lips that every so often, Harry couldn't help but capture it with his camera.

Harry found himself more than surprised when he opened his Facebook (a rarity) to find an invitation from another student in one of his classes to a party on Friday. Neil, was it? He couldn't remember his name. He was one of the paintbrush-boy's friends. He was very friendly, very loud and very blonde. Harry had liked him instantly when he'd offered him a blueberry muffin one lunchtime last week.  
He'd been so close to declining the invitation, but a picture under the list of attendees had caught his eye at the last second.  
He had spent the rest of week telling himself he was definitely not going to a party because of one boy with pretty blue eyes and possibly the nicest arse he'd ever seen.

Louis first speaks to Harry when he catches him outside, taking a picture of a ladybug on the steps leading to the small garden.

"Hey, Curly. What're you doing out here on your own?"  
Harry stills at the sound of the voice he somehow knows well by now, and he can't help the coils of excitement that bubble inside, because _yes, Harry, this is happening_.

"I...I came out for some fresh air but ended up entranced by this ladybug over here." He follows the bug along the step with his eyes and his lens.

"Ah, yes, very beautiful." Louis' eyes don't leave Harry's face for a second when he leans in for a closer look, his cheeks rosy from the cold night air.  
Louis straightens up again and Harry turns to face him with a curious look. Louis stands at the glass door to the back of the house with a hand in his back pocket and a beer in his other one. That denim jacket Harry recognises sits atop a plain black tee. He looks gorgeous.

"He certainly is," He smiles, "your turn; what are you doing outside, Mr Life-of-the-party?" Harry only uses the nickname because he recalls Zayn giving Louis a piggyback ride through the house, both screaming in glee, a bottle of something very alcoholic in each hand. Everyone was watching, laughing along and cheering on the pair. They whizzed past Harry so quickly, he had barely registered who it was. That voice, he had recognised, though. The one speaking to him so gently now, a vast contrast from the usually loud and boisterous tone.  
Louis slides the glass door shut behind him and takes a seat next to Harry on the concrete steps, putting down his beer beside him. The pounding music and the chatter from within becomes muffled. Harry lets out a sigh of relief. Louis watches his breath in the night air slip from his lips. 

"Same reason as you, love, except, less fresh," Louis says, popping a cigarette between his lips. He slips one to Harry, who smiles in thanks, sliding his small camera into a coat pocket. Louis lights Harry's before his own.

They smoke quietly together and watch the ladybug crawl along the concrete space between them before suddenly, its wings spread and it takes flight, startling both of the boys.  
They look to each other in alarm before Harry lets out a gasp and begins giggling, staring straight into Louis' eyes. Louis laughs too but remains slightly confused as to why he's laughing. He can't seem to stop the laughter bubbling up from inside at the sight of the boy in front of him. His dimples cave in and his smile spreads wider. The creases at the corners of his eyes grow deeper and Harry lifts a hand to his mouth when his eyes close briefly.  
Louis isn't sure if he's drunk and hearing whatever techno shit they're playing from within the house, but he's sure he's almost sober now, and he can hear music, and it might just be the sound of Harry's laughter.  
Harry doesn't explain why he's laughing, but lifts his camera again and abruptly takes a picture of Louis' face.

"Hey! What was that for?" Harry blushes fully and his smile disappears. He swallows, and lifts a finger to Louis' face and softly touches Louis' cheek. Louis is completely bewildered, but can't deny the jolt that spreads from the single touch. His eyes flutter shut.

"Go on, off you go," Harry says quietly, his teeth biting lightly on his bottom lip with a small smile.

"What?" Louis chuckles and opens his eyes to look at the strange boy.

"I wasn't talking to you," He brings his hand away with the ladybug perched upon the tip of his finger, sucking at the cigarette using his other hand, "you didn't even notice." the smoke slips out of his lungs and through his nose with his light giggles.

"Well, it's fucking freezing. I wouldn't even notice if you slapped me across the face, my face is that numb." Louis takes a drag as Harry laughs.

"I wouldn't do that, don't worry," Harry looks up at Louis with such a sincerity, it takes Louis' breath away. He's undeniably beautiful, more so up close. Even with the cigarette that dangles between his lips, the rolled up death sentence a pretty contrast at the mouth of such an angelic face. "Do you want to hold him?" He asks.

"Sure. What's his name?"  
Harry hesitates for a second before he answers.

"Arnold." He decides. Harry takes Louis' hand into his, allowing Arnold to pass safely from hand to hand.

"Hello, Arnold," Louis says quietly, trying desperately to ignore the thoughts of _such soft hands, such a pretty face, voice like honey_ whirring in his head. He looks up at Harry after watching Arnold explore his fingers. Harry smiles softly at him. "Louis. Tomlinson, by the way."

"I know. I'm Harry. Styles."

"Nice to finally meet you, then, Harry Styles," He smiles at Harry before asking; "How d'you know?" Arnold makes his way down to Louis' wrist, tickling his tattoo.

"Must've heard it somewhere in college, I guess, I've seen you around." Harry smirks and purposefully leaves out the part where he had asked Neil _(Was it Niall?)_ for the name of the boy; the one with the feathery brown hair and ocean eyes.

"Oh, right. You do photography, yeah?" He asks, though Louis already knows; he had asked Niall one lunchtime, slamming his plate full of chips down on their table, who that boy was, _'The one with the lips and the hips and the curls, Niall.'_  
_'The fit one that does photography, with the flowers in his hair and the nail polish, right?' Niall smiled knowingly, glancing at Zayn and Liam, both with identical looks on their faces._

"Yeah, I do," Harry answers proudly.

Sitting on the cold grey steps facing each other, elbows perched behind them, they both stub their cigarettes out and watch Arnold fly away. One of Harry's legs spreads down over two steps, whilst the other remains bent at the knee, long enough to brush against Louis' thigh. Louis can't ignore the sudden fascination he finds in Harry's legs there and then. The black jeans he wears cling to them like a second skin. Louis swallows hard, trying to focus on the words coming out of Harry's beautiful mouth.

"What are you doing in college?" Harry asks. They wave to Arnold before Louis replies.

"Fine art." Louis looks to the floor, averting his eyes from where their legs touch. Harry hums.

" _Ooh_ , an artist. What's your favourite?" Louis' eyebrows furrow at the odd question. He wonders then if Harry, too, is completely sober, or just quirky in the questions he asks. He decides he likes it either way.

"My favourite?" He looks to Harry's face, a smile playing at his lips in amusement. 

"Artist. Who's your favourite artist? Who inspires you? What influences your work? You know," he waves a large hand around carelessly as he explains, "your favourite."

"Oh," Louis chuckles nervously and rubs the back of his neck. "That's a...that's a big question. I don't...I guess I don't really have a favourite artist. I mean, I love Picasso's work, but I don't go for his style. It's more appreciation of him and his inspiration for his work. Van Gogh's work is beautiful, of course. Da Vinci; insane. Frida; stunning. All the big guys. Love 'em. But I guess..." He looks at Harry hesitantly and Harry only stares back with those gorgeous green eyes, his curiosity peaking.

"Yeah?" He encourages Louis to finish.

"I guess...I get inspired by what I see around me. I think it's kind of pointless to aim for what other artists have achieved already, though sometimes it's inevitable.  
"I just look around and whatever reaction or emotion I get in response to my surroundings at the time; I like to portray that in my work. Well, I mean, I try to," he chuckles, "And I guess," Louis pulls at a thread on his ripped jeans and looks up to the night sky. He notices how the stars shimmer like Harry's eyes do, "It is kind of like Picasso, in a way. His blue period was due to his depression and sorrow at the time. I like that; using colours to convey emotion. I mean, that's all he saw, you know? So that's all he painted. It's heartbreaking, but I just think it's kind of a beautiful concept." He drifts off and his eyes go to meet Harry's once again and his heart sinks. He looks to the ground, "I'm sorry for boring you."  
Harry remains focused, looking down at his camera, pressing various buttons, brows furrowed.

"Your eyes come alive when you talk about what you love." Louis looks up again at Harry.

"What?" He lets out a scoff. Harry looks back up with a smile.

"It's quite beautiful, I had to take a picture. 'M sorry." Louis hadn't even noticed the shutter sound.

"Oh, that's okay. Thank you, I guess." He says with a light laugh. His heart leaps in his chest at the feeling of something he'd maybe call hope, returning again.

"Yeah. About the art, though, that's lovely, what you said. Really lovely." Louis tries to hide his growing smile by looking down at his checkered Vans. He allows the blooming feeling inside to give him a surge of confidence.

"Can I get you a drink, Harry?" He says boldly, pointing a thumb towards the house.  
Harry stares at Louis blankly, internally making a decision. 

He's had a crush on Louis from the first time he saw him at college, dressed in that jacket and a Stones tee shirt, paint smudged on his fingers and that old brush peeking out from his back pocket. _Why is he hesitating now?_

"I...I have to go, actually." Louis' smile drops. Harry stands up, fidgeting with his hands. Louis follows straight after, standing with the frown still etched onto his face.

"Oh, why so soon?" Louis can't hide the disappointment in his voice.

"I...uhm... I have this assignment to do for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is Saturday, Harry," Louis deadpans and Harry begins to stutter as he scratches his head.

Louis lowers his head and gives a small nod of understanding; Harry isn't interested. He should've guessed.

"It's okay, I get it. We'll go back inside and you don't have to speak to me again. I understand." He turns to make his way back up the steps.

"No. No, Louis, it's not like that. At all," Harry rushes to grab Louis by the wrist to stop him from walking back into the house. Louis halts immediately at the contact, "listen, I'm...not very good with people. They don't like the camera and the awkward and the shy," Harry isn't all that sure why he's pouring this out to Louis, but it feels right, it feels safe, so he continues, "So they...leave. They always leave. And I kind of push. I just push away because it's easier than being left," He sighs, "I don't know why I'm telling you this...I think I might've had a bit too much to drink." Louis looks up at Harry and finds his eyes have glazed over, forcing a smile.

"Harry..," his eyes go soft, "It's not up to you whether I leave or not. Give me that choice, yeah? Give me a chance, at least. A chance to prove you wrong." Louis realises how dramatic he sounds but he really can't find the effort to care.

"I just," he shudders, "I just don't want to get hurt."

"I'm not going to hurt you, love." 

"I-"

"No, don't. Come inside. Let me get you a drink and we can get out of here." He puts a gentle hand on Harry's back, guiding him up the steps. 

"But," Harry stops and turns to Louis, "your friends...won't they...don't they need you more?" Harry tries half-heartedly to show some objection.

"I see them almost every day. It's not every day I finally get to talk to the guy I've been crushing on for months, AND he lets me ramble on about art to him. Then he acts interested for me?" He quirks an eyebrow, "Nah, I'm not letting this slip for those douchebags in there." He says fondly, and Harry's eyes are alight with Louis' confession.

"Months?" He says quietly.

"Well, yeah." Louis chuckles nervously at the fact that he's just said that aloud. Harry grins at him happily, scooping him up for a hug. He pulls back before Louis can reach and takes his hand, making Louis' eyebrows shoot up. He doesn't object, just squeezes Harry's hand in his own to make sure it's real.

"And by the way, it wasn't acting. I got a fucking D in GCSE drama. I am interested. Genuinely. Seriously." Louis grins happily at that.

The two college boys giggle hand in hand as they squeeze through the crowd of drunk teens and out through the front door.

_(They never do get that drink.)_

Harry tells Louis that his flat isn't too far and they decide to leg it, breathing heavily with each step, adrenaline thrumming in their veins and the last of the alcohol in their systems causing a few tumbles, which they easily laugh off. Harry fumbles at the door, unlocking it on the third try, with Louis' hand on his to steady him.

Louis pushes Harry through once it opens. Harry gets to him first and pushes him back against the closed door. His hands reach Louis' neck, and Louis' hands find Harry's waist. They're both still panting from the sprinting and it's hot, _it's really hot,_ in the small apartment.  
Harry slides his thumb along Louis' cheek, so sharp to look at and so soft to touch. With their faces inches from each other and their bodies pressed up against one another, Harry breaks the silence.

"Sofa? Bedroom is way too far away." Louis nods eagerly and Harry reaches for his hand again, dragging him to the small space. 

Louis drops to the couch with a thud and Harry is on his lap in an instant, a lean leg either side of Louis' thighs. He puts a hand on each thigh, giving them a squeeze before Harry's hands are back, wrapped around the back of his neck, long fingers in Louis' hair. He hisses at the jolt the cold rings on his neck give him along with the feeling of Harry's crotch grinding down against his.

Harry slows down his frantic movements to take Louis' face in his hands. 

"Hey." He whispers, his lips brushing Louis'. 

"Hey," Louis breathes out, "you good?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." Harry bites his bottom lip, suppressing a smile.

Harry closes his eyes as Louis brings his hands to his face, stroking Harry's cheeks, Harry's lips, Harry's eyelids, his lashes tickling his fingertips ever so softly. When Louis finally brings his lips to Harry's, his eyes squeeze shut, harder, as he rushes to meet Louis' lips again, harder, and he wants more. Their mouths move together with ease, so in tune with each other already after meeting mere hours ago. Their bodies fit like a lock and key, and neither of them intends on pulling apart any time soon. 

Their kiss grows heavier and their bodies glow hotter with every touch. Heat spreads from Harry's hands through his entire body, a light sheen layering his skin. He grinds down with more force as Louis moves his hands to grip at Harry's hair, pulling a moan from him. Louis smirks into their kiss as he grips Harry's hip with his other hand, guiding him gently into his back, their lips still locked. Harry's legs hook around Louis' waist and his back arches from the sofa, desperate to meet Louis' thrusts. Louis obliges, pressing down as to get at the friction they both need so badly.

"Listen, babe, you're gonna need to get those jeans off. Like, now." Louis says breathlessly against Harry's neck.

"Babe?" Harry giggles out. Louis can't find it anything other than endearing.

"Alright, Curly," his head drops to Harry's shoulder, "you got me. Now please, jeans off. Or shirt. Or both." He pushes himself up and gives Harry a pointed look. 

" _Ooh_ , bossy." Harry tuts and continues giggling as Louis mutters a ' _shut up_ ', lifting Harry's maybe-too-bright-for-February floral shirt over his head.  
Louis dives straight for his mouth again, relishing in Harry's plush and oh-so-sinful lips. He kisses down his neck, down to his soft chest, lingering on his nipples, clearly sensitive by the way Harry lets out small whimpers with each nip and lick.

He noses at the feather light hair at Harry's navel, breathing him in. He can hear Harry's needy breaths if he listens close enough. He unbuttons Harry's jeans, pulling down the zip, slowing himself as not to come on the spot. He glances up to Harry's flushed cheeks and swollen lips. He smiles sweetly down at Louis. 

It hits him then; _Louis cannot mess this up_ , not now that he has Harry right in front of him, looking like...like that. He takes a deep breath.

"Is this okay?" He asks shakily.

"Hm?" Harry lifts his head from where it was thrown back on the arm rest.

"Are you okay? Do you still want to...? No second thoughts or anything?" He lifts an eyebrow, hands still on Harry's hips. He squeezes lightly at the soft skin. Harry's frown disappears.

"What? Yeah. Yeah, of course. Do you?" He smiles hopefully.

"Oh my god," he coughs, "yes, yeah, 'course I do," he leans up to Harry and kisses him hard on the mouth, "don't want to fuck this up, is all. You are so, so gorgeous. Y'know that?" Harry hums and smiles, pecking Louis' soft lips once. 

"No, I didn't actually, but thank you. Not so bad yourself, Tomlinson." Louis holds Harry's chin between his thumb and index and brings his face into one last sweet kiss before dropping between his legs.

*

They both smile into a kiss, pulling apart, gazes meeting dreamily once again.

"How was that, baby?" He mumbles against his lips, stroking Harry's creamy thighs, the heat of his mouth still present.

"Not bad," Harry smirks, but his glassy eyes and bitten lips say otherwise.

"You know, you're cheeky." Harry's eyes drop, a blush spreads across his smooth cheeks. Louis puts up little restraint to his hands capturing his face and directing Harry's eyes in his direction again.

"I...I am?" Harry turns shy. 

"Yeah, you are, and it's so, so lovely. You're lovely."

"And you are a softie." He prods Louis' nose. His face scrunches up in distaste.

"Me? Soft?" He shakes his head.

"Yes. You are. You're very soft," he strokes at Louis' fluffy hair as if to prove his point, "And, very lovely." Harry grins.

"Okay," Louis admits, "maybe I'm a little bit soft...for you," his blush matching Harry's.

Harry suddenly begins making the most obscene gagging noises, Louis cracking up at the quirky boy on his lap.

"Hey! Stop it! Stop it, Harry!" Louis protests. Harry pinches Louis' sides, growing louder. Louis cackles as Harry tickles him relentlessly.

*

Harry and Louis sit curled up, surrounded by blankets and pillows at opposite ends of the ratty old sofa with their bare legs entangled. They lie comfortably, their time together consisting of giggling fits, tickling fights, make out sessions and mutual blow jobs here and there, and Louis may or may not have had his fingers inside Harry's arse at some point. Louis, in his sex-induced daze recalls Harry's back arching off of the sofa in the filthiest manner, crying out in pleasure at his mercy.

He smiles at the boy sitting opposite to him. Harry stares at the TV screen, a content look on his face, unaware of his onlooking admirer.

 _Doesn't that seem familiar?_ Louis wonders to himself.

The night seems fuzzy, as though it was all a dream. He's just happy, and it's all a bit overwhelming for the boy.

"Thank you." Harry suddenly breaks the silence, turning towards Louis.

"For what?" He asks softly.

"For not leaving me all alone tonight. For being so nice? I don't know. Thank you. I just didn't expect you to be so...you. If that makes sense." Harry ducks his head.

"Oh. You're welcome. Was my pleasure. Literally,"Harry smiles. "And I feel the same, if I'm honest. I had this idea of you in my head when I would see you at college and then...Now I've met you. I realise I was wrong." Harry's eyes soften at Louis' words. 

"How?"

"Well, I was wrong because that idea was ridiculous. It was ridiculous because you're so much more than an idea of a person. Christ, I mean, you're everything and more than an idea, Harry."

Harry leans towards Louis and crawls over, straddling him. He takes Louis' face in his hands. They're trembling lightly, so Louis steadies them using his own hands, like an anchor holding a ship steady. 

It's then, Louis realises, that this, _this_ , is the not-so-cheeky side of Harry; the shy, insecure side of Harry that sits alone on the college green every day, reading his books and writing in his journal. The Harry that flushes when anyone attempts to talk to him, scared that they have in fact mistaken him for someone else. The Harry that Louis had seen more than once, finger hesitating on the shutter of his camera, afraid to take a picture of something in fear of it not turning out how he thought it might; doubting himself. It breaks his heart. This is the side of Harry that he hadn't considered through his rose coloured glasses.

Louis' eyes sparkle as he gazes into Harry's bright green orbs. He is heartachingly beautiful. His chocolate curls surround his smooth face, and his cheekbones appear to have been chiselled by gods. He glows under the moonlight from the window behind them that casts eery shadows on everything in its path.  
His lips, his painfully plump lips, quirk up.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" Louis barely whispers.

"Like you're going to cry." He lets out a giggle.

"I...You're quite beautiful, you know. And I can't quite believe you're in my arms."

"Louis Tomlinson. You are about the cheesiest man I've ever encountered," He shrugs, "Guess it's a good thing I'm not lactose intolerant." And with that utterly bizarre statement, he surges forward, pressing his lips to Louis'.

Louis smiles into the kiss. This is the real Harry. He knows it. He feels it.

*

  
Louis wakes up alone. His mind drifts in his sleepy haze to the smell of fresh coffee and toast coming from the doorway. He smiles into the soft pillow beneath him before hauling himself up. He stretches with a groan and slips on a pair of boxers from the floor, caring little about whether they're his or Harry's. 

He takes the second he didn't spare last night to look around the room, and of course, Harry is the minimalist photographer. The sofa sits amongst a TV, a single coffee table, a record player. He finds himself with a choice of two closed doors and the small corridor towards the front door of the apartment.

He trusts his nose to lead him towards the smell and is let down by his own senses when he opens the door to what he thinks is the kitchen, but is, in fact, Harry's bedroom. He turns to leave when something catches his eye from inside. 

The wall; Hundreds of photos line the white painted brick walls. He walks into the room now, to peer closer at the images.  
His jaw drops when he lets himself look closer. The pictures are beautiful. But what has Louis' mouth dry, is that a good amount of the glossy images before him, are of himself. He's smiling, laughing, or standing blissfully unaware of his very own personal photographer.

The door creaks, startling Louis.

"Morning," Harry says with a hint of shame in his voice.

Two plates and two steaming mugs sit on a tray in his arms. Louis' baggy shirt fits him perfectly, his long, lean thighs on full display with Louis' tight black boxers on. His mouth isn't dry anymore, but his focus quickly cuts back to Harry's wall.

"Harry...these pictures...they're wonderful. But," he hesitates, unsure of how to word the question, "a few of them-"

"-A lot of them." Harry corrects.

"They're...they're of me." He breathes out. Harry makes his way to the bed and puts the tray down on the bedside table.

"Yeah, I guess they are."

"Why?"  
Harry sits down on the edge of the bed. He chuckles bitterly and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I guess that old crush of yours was mutual. Look, I'm sorry if I've freaked you out. I'm not, like, a stalker or anything, I promise. I just..." He looks down to the floor, clearly embarrassed.

Louis tears his eyes from the walls and turns to gently lift Harry's chin up to face him from below. 

"I...I'm honoured." He laughs.

Harry gazes up at him, shame evident in his eyes and in the way he swallows hard before speaking.

"You're not weirded out? Feeling like you need to run far and fast? I would be," He says shamefully.

"Not at all. It's actually a privilege. Photographed by someone so talented. I mean, look at this," he gestures to the walls covered in beautiful images. "You made me look good, it's incredible." He laughs.

"Really?" He asks with hope evident in his voice.

"Yeah, Harry. It really is."

Louis drops to level with Harry. Harry's eyes drift shut as Louis leans forward to press a kiss to his mouth. He nips Louis' bottom lip and licks into his mouth.  
Harry finds himself pressed to the mattress, Louis' small hands gripping his wrists, restraining him, quicker than he has time to register. Mouth still on his, Louis slots himself between Harry's legs, grinding down, emitting a filthy moan from the boy. Harry's legs wrap around Louis' waist, and Louis smirks into Harry's mouth, pleased with the reaction. The morning draws parallels with the previous evening, but neither of the boys complains.

The kissing and the grinding grows hot and heavy so quickly that they find themselves panting when they part for a breath. They take a look at each other, lips swollen and the two boys breaking a sweat by now. Louis breaks the comfortable silence.

"Do you want to-"

"Fuck, yes, Louis. Yes. Table."

Louis gives him a sweet kiss before rooting through the small drawer beside the bed, finding a journal, a pink dildo, some crayons and a few glittery gel pens before reaching a bottle of lube and a row of condoms buried at the bottom beneath the clutter.

When he turns back to the bed, Harry is sitting at the edge waiting for Louis, arms behind him on the bed and his face flushed but peaceful. He looks so innocent, considering what they both know is about to happen. 

Harry's eyes slowly drift from the wall to Louis' face and he smiles ever so softly. His innocence seems almost a façade when his legs spread apart in front of Louis, his eyes never leaving Louis'. Louis all but dives towards the boy, capturing his mouth as they tumble back onto the bed.

*

When they finally part, breathless and sweaty, Harry smiles up at Louis from where he lies across his chest. The once tidy white sheets are ruffled and they both look very much fucked out. Harry drags his finger across Louis' beautiful chest piece. His eyes meet Louis', gaze heavy and entrancing. Louis finds himself lost in it for some time before Harry speaks, his voice low and gentle. 

"I made toast and coffee. It's probably cold." Louis chuckles into Harry's hair.

"I actually hate coffee." He hears Harry huff in relief.

"Oh, thank fuck, Louis. Same here."

"Why'd you make coffee then? You melon. You baby melon." 

"I don't know, I panicked! And don't. Call. Me. A. Melon. Or a baby." His head lifts up and he kisses Louis between each word, his faux anger causing Louis to giggle down at him.

"You're a baby." He teases. Harry suddenly shoots up, straddling Louis, and the air in the room changes within a few seconds. He brings his face to Louis', his breath hot on Louis' ear and neck.

"Call me baby again." Harry challenges. He nips at Louis' earlobe playfully, biting at his neck, licking at his jaw. Louis can feel himself crumbling underneath the boy, his perky arse positioned perfectly on his dick. 

His eyes split open suddenly with an idea. He grabs Harry by his soft hips, flipping him onto his back, a smile on his face as he drags his tongue up Harry's chest, flicking at his nipple, bringing a shudder from Harry. He laps up to his neck and finally to his ear.

" _Ooh_ , naughty baby," Harry shivers as Louis kisses across to his mouth. He finds a grin plastered across Harry's face as he bites his bottom lip. "What're you smiling at, love?" he asks, tucking a loose curl behind his ear.

"Like it when you call me baby." He confesses. Louis presses a sweet kiss to his lips, locking the image of a blushing, naked Harry away in his memory forever.

"'S 'cause you are a baby."

"Oh yeah?" His eyes meet Louis'.

"Yeah, a baby. My stalker baby." Louis smiles down at him, pressing kisses to every corner of his face. Harry's eyes slip shut in bliss. 

"Hey, Lou?" 

Louis hums in response, his mouth latched to Harry's neck, sucking bruises of dark purple to pale violet upon the creamy surface. Harry takes advantage of the slow pace Louis seems to have adopted and he flips Louis onto his back again. Louis throws his head back in a sigh. 

"You little shit."

"Oh? I thought I was a baby?" Harry's eyebrows furrow down at Louis, a teasing glint in his eye.

"Yeah, you are. A soft, little ba-" He lets out a loud moan as Harry grinds down onto his hardening cock. 

Harry hums in a pleased tone, relentless in his movements. The friction between his arse and Louis' dick all but drives him insane. He grabs Harry by the hair, bringing his face close in a deep kiss. He pulls apart from him, breathless and desperate.

"Harry, chuck me the lube, and a condom. Now."

Harry hops off of his dick, quite literally, and skimpers around the room with a smile on his face, trying to find the bottle and foil packets amongst the mess of sheets on the floor. Louis can tell he's making a show of it for him when he takes his time bending over to flip a pillow on the floor, humming as he goes on to the blanket.

"Shit," He mutters to himself, having to drag his eyes from Harry's perky little arse cheeks to the end of the bed. Louis flicks up the blanket and the bottle of lube drops with a light thud to the mattress, followed by the condoms.

"Found them," He says in triumph, apparently to no one in particular. He checks under the bed for Harry but finds he is most definitely alone."Harry?"

The door is open and he hears the soft padding of feet fading from the kitchen to the living room and back to the bedroom door.  
Harry looks all but ethereal, leaning against the doorframe with nothing but his camera hanging from his neck. He smiles sweetly at Louis.  
Louis is butter. A lump of butter and Harry is the soft sunshine that melts him down with so little as a small smile. 

"Hey." He whispers.

"Hey, sweet cheeks, where'd you run off to?" His dimples deepen as he gives the camera a little pat, a proud look on his face.

"What fo-" His eyes turn serious as the realisation dawns on him, "Oh, oh no. No, no, no. No, Harry," Harry's smile turns naughty, "Don't you fucking da-" 

Harry is jumping on the bed before he can finish. He pushes Louis onto his back, standing up straight on the bed, feet either side of Louis' small waist. He falls onto the bed with a thump, giggling as he goes down.

"Fucking hell, Harry!" The shutter goes off. Harry jumps up and down on the spot, shaking Louis' entire body. "Creepy! Stalker! Angel! Boy!" he mutters between bounces, throwing his arm over his face with a playful grin on his face.

The bouncing and sounds of the camera going off slowly come to a stop. 

Harry stares down at the boy below him, taking in his skin, so golden it may as well be glowing. His eyes drift over the number of tattoos littering his body, a lot like Harry's. He notices the two of them happen to share a mutual love for nautical designs and smiles to himself. 

All at once, it hits Harry like a fucking train; he's the most comfortable he's ever been around another person, here with Louis, in a long time. Louis seems to enjoy the shy Harry, the loud Harry, and most certainly, the naked Harry. He tries not to well up at the realisation, looking back at Louis' face.

Louis' arm doesn't cover his mouth, and Harry can see his teeth biting his bottom lip in a smile. He takes one last picture, wanting to remember the exact moment he realised he may or may not have accidentally met his soul mate. 

All dramatic epiphanies aside, Harry knows one thing for sure; Louis is in his bed, waiting to fuck Harry, and it's going to be glorious.  
So, as Louis' arm slowly drops to reveal a gorgeous blush on his cheeks, and with a soft "Get down here, love," Harry lowers himself onto the boy, tossing his camera aside and bringing his face to Louis', capturing his smile in a kiss.

Louis' soft and toned arms wrap easily around Harry's middle, bringing him closer, closer, closer. His teeth graze Harry's lips, his tongue following.  
Their mouths chase each other and soon they're slick skin on skin, Harry crying out Louis' name, tears of pleasure streaming down his rosy cheeks. Louis kisses them away as he moves with determination. He keeps looking to Harry, from where he's latched to his neck, his chest, his mouth, to check if he's okay, his concerns always silenced by the sound of Harry's whimpers, his screaming, _'More, Louis, more'_ every time.

Louis comes with Harry, kissing his moans into muffled whimpers. They cuddle afterwards, kissing softly in their comedown until they doze off together.

Louis wakes up again to the sound of Harry's bedroom floor creaking. He looks up to see Harry's arse shimmying into a pair of clean black boxers. He walks into the bathroom for a minute or two and Louis hears the tap running. Then Harry heads to his drawer. He looks into the mirror on top of it and dabs some cream from a small bottle onto his fingers. He carefully rubs it into his silky skin with his eyes closed. Skincare routine over, he squirts some perfume once or twice on his neck.  
Louis quickly shuts his eyes again as Harry turns to him, pressing a gentle kiss to Louis' forehead, trying his best not to smile as he pretends to sleep. Harry hums a mellow tune as he walks through the living room and into the kitchen.  
Louis sits up once the coast is clear and makes his way to the drawers opposite to Harry's bed. He picks up the perfume sat on the top of it and squirts it once in the air. He inhales the musky, flowery scent, smiling to himself. Just like Harry. He glances into the mirror to find that he looks fresh, awake, _alive_.

 _Must be the Harry effect_ , he thinks to himself.

He does give his face a rinse in the bathroom, though, considering there was come smeared on it just a number of hours ago. 

Louis finds Harry's underwear in the top drawer and looks down at the organised set of clothing. His eyebrow lifts as his eyes land on one pile in particular. He smirks, picking up a pair of pink lace panties, even with a little bow on them. Louis would have to see Harry in these, and very soon. The image alone of him strutting around his apartment in nothing but the small piece of lingerie almost makes his knees give way there and then. 

He shakes his head as his focus returns. He slides on a borrowed pair of Harry's white boxers and squirts some of his perfume onto his neck, too.

Harry jumps a little at the sudden feeling of Louis' soft hands wrapping around his bare stomach. He hooks his chin on Harry's shoulder after pressing a kiss just below his jaw.

"Hey, baby." He whispers.

"Hey." Harry smiles to himself as he pops some fresh bread in his pink polka dotted toaster. 

"What time is it?"

"Just gone six." Louis hums into Harry's neck, taking a second to just breathe him in.

"Six? That went quickly." 

"It did?" Harry quirks an eyebrow, a playful hint to his tone.

"Much too quick." Harry twists in Louis' arms, bumping their noses together. He plants a chaste kiss to Louis' lips. 

"Agreed. Whatever will we do?"

"Well, I guess we could..." Louis sighs as he says it, looking to the floor in faux thought. 

"What? Louis, what is it? Tell me,"

"I mean, if you wanted to..."

"Louis, stop teasing me." At that, Louis meets Harry's eyes, blue on green; a perfect match. He grins up at him.

"We could always do it again sometime if you'd like?"

"Don't think so," Louis smirks at that. 

"Oh, really?" He challenges. Harry hums, nuzzling at Louis' neck.

"I guess I could fit you in somewhere." Louis' head tilts, allowing room for Harry to lick and suck at his rapidly beating pulse point.

"I'd be most grateful, Harold. I'm sure you're a very busy boy." Harry chuckles lowly against his throat. 

"Tomorrow sound good?" Louis shudders at the vibration of Harry's deep voice against his skin.

" _Ooh_ , eager. Tomorrow sounds amazing." Harrys breaks off at the sound of the kettle whistling, turning away from Louis towards the tea cups and toaster. Louis gasps at the loss of contact, falling back against the small table behind him.

Harry hums, "Good," He pours the water into two mugs, "And nice perfume, by the way," He adds as an afterthought, hiding his grin from Louis.

They nibble at buttered toast and sip tea in silence together ( _'This is the best toast I've ever eaten.' 'It's just toast, Lou.' 'It becomes more than toast when there's a beautiful boy in boxers buttering it up for you.' 'You are such an artist.' 'I am?' 'You just made toast sound fucking poetic.' 'Thanks, babe.'_ ) before Harry decides to speak up again, a curious look and a playful smirk on his face.

He has a sudden surge of confidence in saying what his mind has been raking over for the past few hours, but especially when Louis' cock was in his arse.

"So, Louis, I was just thinking...If I'm the baby..."

"Watch where you're going with this curly," Louis says, wary, but listening with intent nevertheless, blowing on his steaming mug as he brings it to his lips.

Harry, too, brings his tea to his own pursed lips, still swollen from the stolen kisses between bites of buttery toast, and surely still sickly sweet from the strawberry jam layered on Harry's.

"Does that make you... _the daddy?_ " 

Louis freezes, his entire body rigid, looking to Harry with stern eyes.

" _Harry..._ " He warns. 

Harry simply sips his tea one last time to conceal his growing smile before placing it down on the counter beside him. He shrugs when Louis doesn't continue, noticing a small drop of jam on his thumb. He brings it to his mouth, but before he can stick out his tongue, Louis is in front of him, a frown on his face. 

"Oh no, you don't." Louis takes him by the wrist, bringing his hand to his mouth. Harry gasps when Louis laps up the jam, sucking lightly at his thumb. "Don't start something you can't finish." Harry hums, pleased with the reaction.

"Ooh, I was hoping you'd be the one to finish this, _da-_ " Louis' mouth is on his before he can finish. Harry giggles into the kiss.

Louis' small but firm hands are on his soft thighs in no time, lifting him onto the countertop with ease. His mouth doesn't leave Harry's once. He licks into Harry's mouth, tasting the sugary jam on his tongue, combined wth Harry's natural honey-sweetness. It tastes like the summer sun, like a breath of fresh air, it tastes welcoming, like _home_.

There's jam and come smeared on Harry's face, Louis' chest and crumbs in their hair as they lie side by side on the kitchen floor, panting heavily. 

"That was nice." Harry remarks.

"Yeah, it was," Louis replies, his eyes trying to focus on the ceiling lamp above his head. His head is such a blur of pleasure and _Harry, Harry, Harry_ , he can't think straight. 

"Shower?"

"Yes," Louis says breathlessly. Harry slowly stands up, his legs wobbling slightly, which makes Louis glimmer with pride.  
Louis follows him to the bathroom, catching the small jiggle of Harry's arse with a smile as he pads across the apartment and through the bedroom.

  
They spend the evening sipping on cheap wine, scoffing pizza over a corny movie and sharing cigarettes on the balcony. Harry even paints Louis' nails a pale blue to match his.

It's simple and it's nice and it's so, so easy. 

They discuss their simple lives over the hours; their passions, their futures, their pasts, their favourites and their worsts between kisses and cuddles.  
But after today, Harry and Louis both know their futures might look a bit different. They might look a bit like two boys that go from college crushes to boyfriends, to husbands, to parents, to home. They might look like home isn't all that far from each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank u for reading .x


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